


don’t sweat the small stuff

by hyacinthis



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Light Angst, kinda angsty if you squint ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 23:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyacinthis/pseuds/hyacinthis
Summary: It just looked so real. The expression, the wound, all of it. Why would Cyberlife bother making it look like their androids feel something when they die? Doesn’t effect the androids. Just affects the people around them.





	don’t sweat the small stuff

He’s spent most of the evening at the bar. Cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. 

It’s weird how much of an effect it has on him. It’s just a damn android. It shouldn’t matter to him. It may look like a human, but it isn’t. They don’t bleed the same colors. It shouldn’t matter to him when his android counterpart dies. Better him than Hank. But, still…

_Fuck Cyberlife,_ Hank thinks as he finishes off his cigarette. _Fuck them for sending me some plastic toy to play with and fuck them for making him so realistic._

“Rough night?” The bartender asks, pouring Hank some more whiskey.

“Mm.” Hank responds, nodding to him in quiet thanks. “Just reaching a tough spot in our case, is all.”

“Sorry to hear that,” the other man frowns. “You still got that plastic lap dog assigned to you?”

“Unfortunately.” Hank chuckles. His plastic lap dog is the last thing he wants to think about.

“I dunno how you do it.”

“Neither do I.”

“Especially with all deviant androids you hear about on the news these days? Uh-uh, none of that for me.”

Hank chuckles, taking a drink of his whiskey. He rests his head on one of his hands and stifles a sigh. This isn’t the conversation he wants to be having, but here he was.

“I mean, Hell, you have no way of knowing if the thing’s gonna go deviant on you!”

“Nope.” Hank answers flatly.

“Seems kinda counterintuitive, don’t you think? Having an android help solve android related cases. Could put ideas in their heads, y'know?”

“Could I get my tab?” Hank asks. “I’ve got a raging headache and I have to be at work early tomorrow anyways.”

“Sure, man. Sorry for keeping you held up.” 

Hank pays his tab and leaves. He gets into his car, deciding he’s sober _enough_ to drive home. He lights a cigarette and turns up the radio, sighing slowly. Goddamn bartender has him thinking about the damn android again.

It just looked so _real_. The expression, the wound, all of it. Why would Cyberlife bother making it look like their androids feel something when they die? Doesn’t effect the androids. Just affects the people around them.

And, Goddammit, Hank can’t get it out of his mind. The gunshot, the way he fell to the floor, the expression on his face. It looked too much like a human being shot than an android. It should have just slumped over, like its batteries had died or some shit.

_But,_ a tiny voice in the back of Hank’s mind says. _What if it experiences things like humans do? Just because it isn’t a human doesn’t mean that it’s not a living being._

“Shut the fuck up,” Hank murmurs as he pulls up to his house. “It’s a fucking android, for Christ’s sake.”

He gets out of the car and walks to the front door, unlocking it and going inside. Sumo runs up to him, excited to see his owner home, and jumps up. He paws at Hank’s legs and Hank laughs, petting Sumo’s head.

“Hey, good boy.” He says. “How was your day?”

Sumo backs off of him as Hank walks into the kitchen, the dog in his heels.

“Hm. Very interesting.” He answers, pretending like he was given a response. “Well, it sounds like you had a pretty good day then?”

He scoops some dog food out of its bag and fills Sumo’s bowl. He picks up his water bowl and starts to fill it with fresh water, then sets it back down. He washes his hands, then open’s the fridge, deciding to warm up some leftover fried rice.

“My day?” He says as he pours the rice into a bowl. “Oh, you know, the usual.”

He sticks it in the microwave then leans against the counter, watching Sumo eat. He smiles and crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head. He takes the rice or if the microwave when it beeps, then sits at the table.

“Yeah, I’m hoping they’ll be getting this android off of my dick soon.” He sighs. “He’s a nutbag.”

_For someone who doesn’t want to talk about it, you sure are talking about it._ Hank thinks. He rolls his eyes and starts eating.

He eats his dinner in peace then settles on the couch with Sumo to watch a couple of sitcoms. He has to force himself not to go grab a drink from the fridge. He doesn’t need anymore, but, God, if he doesn’t want some more.

He falls asleep on the couch, Sumo’s head in his lap, then wakes back up around three in the morning. He groans and stands up, shuffles into his bedroom, then lays down, and goes right back to sleep.

He wakes up the next morning, groggy, and very unhappy to see his plastic partner standing in the doorway. Hank stares at him for a long time, still exhausted. It’s like he’s looking at a ghost.

“Good morning, Lieutenant!” Connor says. “Or, should I say, good afternoon? I was told to come retrieve you, since you still hadn’t shown up to the station.”

“How the fuck did you get in my house?”

“You left your front door unlocked, Lieutenant.”

Hank stares at him again, holding his stare until he shakes his head and pushes himself into a sitting position. Jesus Christ…. Didn’t it just die the day before? It was shot in the head. Yet, here it was, standing in his house.

“Give me a minute, I need to change clothes.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.” Connor says, then walks back down the hall and waits in the living room.

Hank stares at the doorway where Connor had been standing and sighs. So, they sent him another one? Or is it the same one that was shot yesterday, just fixed? It’s so fucking complicated and Hank is so fucking tired of it already. He wants all of this to just be over with.

Even after drinks and sleeping until noon, he still can’t get the image of Connor’s dead body out of his mind. Dead, slumped against the wall, with a bullet through his brain. And they just sent him another. As if it wasn’t a big deal.

“What the fuck?” Hank murmurs to himself as he walks to his closet. “Fucking Cyberlife. What the fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope y’all enjoyed!!! ik it’s kinda short but i wanted to write this even though i’m not v good at writing pov stuff gjshshdhs  
> lmk what y’all thought in the comments!!


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